"
"Well, yes, something," he replied, pressing his lips together.
He was angry with the shoemaker about that bargain yet.
"How much? I want to pay you."
"Ladies never ask a gentleman such a question when they make them a
present," he said, laughing as he arose. "Imagine Helen asking me how
much I paid for the set of books I gave her on her birthday."
The tears sprang to Marjorie's eyes. Had she done a dreadful thing that
Helen would not think of doing?
Long afterward she learned that he gave for the plate the ten dollars
that his father gave him for a "vacation present."
"Good-bye, Goosie, keep both promises and don't run up a ladder again
until you learn how to run down."
But she could not speak yet for the choking in her throat.
"You have paid me twice over with those promises," he said. "I am glad
you broke the old yellow pitcher."
So was she even while her heart was aching. Her fingers held the parcel
tightly; what a hearts-ease it was! It had brought her peace of mind that
was worth more hard promises than she could think of making.
"He said his father's great-grandfather had eaten out of that plate over
in Holland and he had but one more left to bequeath to his little
grandson."
"I'm glad the great-grandfather didn't break it," said Marjorie.
Hollis would not disturb her serenity by remarking that the shoemaker
_might_ have added a century to the age of his possession; it looked two
hundred years old, anyway.
"Good-bye, again, if you don't get killed next time you fall you may live
to see me again.
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